Page 119 of They Break Beauty

“Exactly.” She started looking all around, then studying the chair and the binds. “I’m going to hasten that along, but I need your help.”

“That’s dangerous. They got angry at me for trying to stop them from tying you to the chair when you were unconscious earlier. And that was barely anything. If they find us trying to escape, it won’t just be a knockout punch to the face that we’ll suffer.”

“They did that to you?” she seethed.

“Yeah.”

“You’re just a kid. Those sick bastards.”

“I might be a kid, but I’m also Roman Knight’s heir.”

She sighed. “I get it, believe me. Being Curt Walker’s little princess comes with a crapload of stuff like that too. This isn’t even my first time being taken. Last time was by a rival club.”

“Oh my God. What happened?”

Something dark flittered across her face.

But it was only for a moment before that sunshine returned and she told me, “Nothing much. Steel Dawn MC showed up quickly and got me out.”

Why didn’t I believe her there?

“I didn’t see who was responsible for taking us tonight. The guys that tied us up were wearing ski masks and they didn’t speak, didn’t come in to tell me what was going on, or how long we were going to be here, nothing.”

“That doesn’t bode well.”

“You don’t think?”

She caught herself again, forcing a smile. “We’ll be fine. There’s two of us, we can work well with that. Now, listen carefully, our ankles are tied with rope, not zip ties. They’ve used special knots, but I can walk you through how to undo it. We’ll slide our chairs close enough to one another, then I’ll knock my chair over so I can reach behind me to untie your feet and then—”

“And if they catch us in the middle of this?”

“Given that you’re here alongside me, it’s clear who took us. Malcolm Lynch and his organization. We can’t wait, believe me.”

“Lynch? Never heard of him.”

“Then your dad has done his job well shielding you.” She rolled her eyes. “Much better than mine. Lynch didn’t take us for ransom or leverage. He’s taken us as punishment, to hurt our fathers.”

I swallowed hard.

But before I could respond, the door screeched open.

A figure came into view and we watched as he sealed the door behind him, then drew closer.

It wasn’t one of the bad men this time. No ski-masks.

In his forties but well-preserved with very few age lines, the guy was built like a linebacker. He had a dirty-blond buzz cut that gave him a severe edge. Those beady eyes of his added a creep factor too. He was dressed in a pair of gray dress pants and a V-Neck muscle tee, a forest of chest hair showing through.

He smirked as he caught us looking at him warily.

He pointed at himself in dramatic fashion with two thumbs. “Malcom Lynch.”

He drew ever closer with wide, measured strides. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so best to know whose care you’re in.”

“What do you want?” I found myself blurting out.

The rapidly ramping up tension combined with the hours’ long wait I’d already endured was apparently making me more impatient than usual.

He looked at me and that nasty smirk spread like an infection. “Two little heirs to formidable empires,” he mused, looking us over, a sadistic gleam flashing in his eyes. “That will be remedied over our time together. You’ll break, and without heirs, your fathers’ legacies end. Not to mention how destructively they’ll react when they see what I’ve done to their precious offspring. Two empires will fall and with the heirs useless they will never be resurrected.”

---